BROKEN PROMISES
Is it just me
Or does everything fade
Even those promises
That we once made?
Swept out to sea
Caught in a storm
All those promises
Soon lose their form
& where do they go
These broken words of sweet perfume?
Are they buried forevermore
Lost inside a bottomless tomb?
Who can know?
Who can say?
When we're the ones
Who throw them away
These words are wasted
Meaningless drivel
Pointless sentiment
That can become uncivil
Words are special
They can paint a picture
& should not be spoken
With malicious stricture
Words can build a tower high
& later tear that building down
So use your words with ample caution
Without an arrogant, frivolous crown
Always think before you speak
Don't let your words go for cheap
& most importantly don't make
A promise you will never keep
©CJ
Executive Rising
She smiled, stretching her lips upward, as she realized she had reached the glass ceiling. But there was no emotion, no feeling, only a rage that she could hardly contain. The men in the boardroom looked with self- satisfaction as the CEO gave his choice for President of the corporation. They fully realized that they must keep this resounding force down among the women where she belonged. She was beautiful, it was true, and way more capable than the rest of them, but they knew they must keep their good old boy society if they wanted to succeed.
“This is not fair!” she told herself. “They will be very sorry because I will never let them get the upper hand.” The smug gentlemen had no idea of the extent she could make them suffer. How did they ever think she had gotten this far when all the men held her back?
But Lilah went home angry that evening and began to hatch her plan. After all, she had done it before and had never been caught. She always got what she wanted, of that she was certain. She went into her safe and removed the anthrax that she had stored there for just such occasions, handling it carefully with a gas mask and gloves. Using her key to the office, she went in late that night and scattered the poison around the air vent of the boardroom. She called the CEO late that evening and said she was sick.
“Just because I didn’t pick you as President, you don’t have to be a sore loser,” he smirked. “I fully expect you to be there tomorrow to run the meeting because I’m going out of town. That is, if you plan to keep your job!”
Lilah again called him the next morning and said she couldn’t come in. The boss decided to cancel his meeting and go in instead. Soon the powdery fumes seeped into the boardroom, the pompous men began gasping and were rushed to the hospital where most of them died a painful death. The few that survived would never again be able to run a company, suffering physical and mental problems the remainder of their lives.
No matter how much Lilah was begged, she refused to come in to straighten out the corporation. “It’s an unsafe work space.” she said.
But you can’t keep a good psychopath down as she went on to do what she must to open her world to opportunity.
Stranger Things ...
The stranger knocked upon the door,
A creaking, wooden throb,
And someone on the other side
Unlatched and turned the knob.
Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"
And, "May I use your phone?"
The person on the other side
Appeared to be alone.
An observation taken in,
No pictures on the wall.
He pointed somewhere down the way-
"Go on and make a call."
The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled
As wires were cut instead.
The gentleman began to sense
A subtle hint of dread.
A conversation thus ensued-
"So what has brought you out?
The rain has flooded everything,
And wiped away the drought.
Say, did you walk, or did you drive?
Why don't I take your coat?"
The stranger slowly moved his arms,
A sentimental gloat.
The water from the pouring skies
Enveloped cloth and shoe.
"Say, would you like a place to sleep?
I'll leave it up to you."
The person on the other side
Discarded his mistrust.
The stranger said his tire was flat,
And shed the muddy crust.
"The phone won't work," he also said.
"It could just be the storm.
Perhaps I will stay here tonight,
To keep me safe and warm."
The patron of the house agreed.
He hadn't seen the wire.
The chilly dampness prompted him
To quickly build a fire.
"You have a name? They call me Ed.
My wife was Verna Dean.
She passed away five years ago
And left me here as seen.
I guess it's really not so bad.
We never had a child.
I loved that Verna awful much,"
He said and sadly smiled.
"No property to divvy up.
The bank will get it all.
Say, do you want to try again
To go and make that call?"
The stranger grinned and left the flame
As to the phone he strode.
Within his pocket, knives and twine
In hiding seemed to goad.
A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;
Eviscerate him whole.
The twine would keep him firmly held;
The knife would steal his soul.
A lusty surge erupted hence;
A wicked bit of sin.
The stranger hadn't noticed yet
That someone else came in.
About the time a shadow fell,
He spun to meet a pan.
The room around him faded out
As eyes looked on a man.
A day or two it seemed had passed,
And when he woke all tied,
The stranger gazed upon old Ed
Who simply said, "You lied."
Reversing thoughts, the moment fled
And Ed said in a lean,
"No worries, stranger. None at all.
Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"
He looked upon a wraith in rage;
It seemed his little lie
Combusted in a burning fit-
He didn't want to die.
So many victims in his life,
Some fifty bodies strewn.
And now he was the victim; now
The pain to him was known.
The stranger fought against the twine,
And noticed by his bed
The knife once in his pocket left
A trail of something red.
A bowl filled full of organs sat
As Verna poured some salt.
She exited with all of them.
"You know, this is your fault.
We demons wait for just the day
The guilty take the bait
And play with matches one last time-
I simply cannot wait
To taste the death within your flesh;
The venom in your gut.
So now you know the way they felt-
Hey, you've got quite a cut!"
The person on the other side
Removed his human skin-
Before his wife came back for more,
He offered with a grin:
"Say, stranger, is there anything
You'd like to say at all?"
I looked at all the blood and said,
"I'd like to make that call ... "
Recalled to Life
"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times ... "
Closing the book, I thought of Dickens; I thought of two cities parallel in a universe unfolding.
Laughing , I tossed its well worn rectangular shape onto the couch.
"If I'm going back to London, I'd much prefer Hogwarts," I mused.
Recalled to life
A Sonnet For Becoming A Zombie
Venomous poison runs all through my veins
Coursing and pulsing in my heart beat's path
Bitten and then hunger takes hold the reigns
Even a dummy could sum up this math
Fever within as my flesh starts to stink
Sweat pouring down burns and trickles off me
Thoughts sparse and rare and I can't seem to think
Eyes open wide but now I cannot see
Thirst so relentless my throat cries for aid
Stomach ablaze as I purge my last meal
Look at my hands and the color displayed
Pale, ashen, rotting in each limb's appeal
Gone now are all of my woes, aches, and pains
Shamble and ramble and call out for ... BRAINS!
#poetry #horror #fantasy #zombie
my last words
I laugh not to cry. Life has already left my eyes, and I feel numb. I have cried so many nights, prayed to whatever gods may be for help, for nothing more than justice. We all die, and we all know it. But knowing your exact day and time is… Cold blue nights. You can’t beat death, but you can beat death in life - and I am unconquerable. I didn’t kill those children. Tomorrow is another day just like thousands of days I’ve lived alone in this cell, singing a silent Hallelujah, and trying to breathe. I am tired - I am sick of begging and waiting for the water to drain. I told everybody the truth, but they couldn't deal with it - it is a lion that no one could tame.
Every night, alone in the darkness of my room, I decide to kill myself early in the morning, but I always end up crying on my knees. All the wounds are hidden, behind the emptiness of soul. I am not empty - I swear I am not empty. And I am less always than alive, and less dead than forgive. Twenty more days until my happy ending. They killed me seventeen years ago when they locked me up, and now, now they are just releasing me - setting me free. I miss life, red oaks, and my daughter's smile. I miss her above all. I miss what I will never have. Don’t let your heart get heavy. Don’t let them beat you.
- I am fighting for freedom!
Lure me
Kiss me, tremble me, and love me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Escape, rain and bombinate me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Listen, cry and drag me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Undress, drown and caress me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Bite, smile and ignite me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Buy, by and bye me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Lie, lure and hurt me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Kiss, moan and be me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Fly, whisper and save me,
But you can't write an honest poem
Mustache Man
So, 500 bucks a month and the basement’s off limits, okay?” he asked.
“Sure,” she answered. She felt bad for the old guy in dirty corduroys. He was awkward and way too thin.
The room, though, was full of hazy morning light. She fell in love immediately.
“This is great!” she said, shocked.
“Yeah,” he said. His mustache twitched as if he wanted to say “but…” Then he made a prim “look around” motion with his hand.
She didn’t need to. She started, “This is probably a stupid thing to say but….”
“Why is it so cheap?” he finished. His eyebrows sagged giving him a puppy-dog expression.
He dropped the hand holding the rental agreement, “Look, there’s stuff in the basement. It makes noise.”
Curious, she pulled the gauzy curtain through two fingers and asked, “What stuff?”
Sounding rehearsed, he answered, “Crackheads? A ghost? Who knows?” She pretended to laugh, but frowned.
She did consider walking out. She should have. But the place was cheap and gorgeous. Instead, she signed on mustache man’s skeletal back as he stood hunched over, hands on knees.
A steady “thump, thump, zhinnng…thump, thump, zhinnng…” noise awoke her night after night. It sounded like a washing machine loaded off-center. She tried ignoring it and failed.
It was louder in the hallway. A placard on the basement door read, “Private Property. Enter at Your Own Risk.” Someone added “Kids eat free” in crayon. For some reason that gave her the chills.
She tried the push handle, expecting it to be locked, but it gave. The noise was unbearable now. Reaching for the light switch she fell, breaking her neck on the way down. Shock descended, stealing her pain.
A single lamp, no shade, lit the space under the stairs. Squinting, she saw the mustache man. Full on nude, he was jumping up and down on what used to be a couch. He held an impossibly long knife in his hands.
He jumped twice. “Thump, thump”. Then, the blade crashed down, slicing the couch. “Zhinnng”. Couch stuffing stuck to his sweaty chest and thighs. He froze when he saw her, fire dancing in his eyes, blade glinting.
She stared back at him in the sudden silence, head bent at that extraordinarily wrong angle. Then he jumped off the couch with both feet like a child and shouted, “Oh goody, look what I’ve got to play with next!!”